


Redirect

by canis_m



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s19e13 The Undiscovered Country, F/M, Fix-It, Heartache, canon-typical mommy issues, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, rest in pieces brass ego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_m/pseuds/canis_m
Summary: Rafael says he has to move on.  Olivia's not buying it.





	Redirect

Cold stung his lungs and throat. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to walk, and Rafael kept walking. He felt contused, every part of him, especially around the bleeding heart.

He was so intent on not crying—on not crying more visibly than he already was—that he almost didn't hear the footsteps behind him. Boot heels on pavement, merciless and hard. But he felt the grip on his arm when Olivia seized him, yanking him to a halt.

Maybe he'd forgotten how strong she was. She didn't try to turn him, just threw her arms around him from behind. Her chin drove into his shoulder. The embrace felt more like a vise than a hug. 

"No, no." Her voice was harsh, determined. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to walk away like that."

He couldn't pull apart from her. He screwed up his face. "Liv, please."

"Please what? Please don't fuck up your dramatic exit? You think you get to make your little speech and just—waltz off? No chance for me to talk back?" 

There was no redirecting after closing arguments. She knew that. Some distant, still functional part of him registered the f-bomb; she dropped them so rarely. She must be truly, inexorably pissed. That was a good sign: if she were furious, she'd want to be rid of him, wouldn't she? Purge him from her life, and rightly so.

"I'm not waltzing." It sounded feeble, even to him. He'd blown the last of his cowardly rhetorical wad on saying he loved her without saying it. There were no words left to be said.

"No, you're not. You're coming home with me."

Rafael's vision blurred. He managed to get out "Don't do this," but he was crumbling. He blinked and found his hand on her arm where it spanned his chest. Not trying to pull it off. Clutching her to him. His own worthless body betraying his purpose. She was stronger than him by far.

"Please," he said. "I need to go."

"Oh, I don't think so. My gut is saying that if you walk now, I may never see you again. And I trust my gut. And that's not happening." 

She unwound her arms to seize him by the wrist. The look on her face was nearly savage. 

"Don't make me cuff you," she said.

*

In the taxi Rafael sat muted as she made the necessary calls. Noah was still at school, would be for another hour, but evidently she intended to hold Rafael hostage longer than that. Her grip on his arm never relented. After ending the call to Lucy she didn't speak, didn't look at him. Her jaw was set.

Rafael's mind had emptied. He hadn't planned for this scenario; the boughs of the decision tree were blank. He couldn't understand what she wanted with him, unless it was to castigate him further. They didn't need to go to her place for that. 

When they reached her building she perp-walked him from taxi to lobby. Only when they were in the elevator—where he couldn't possibly escape—did she relax her hold. Her hand slid up and down his arm, then, caressing over his coat sleeve, as if to console and reassure. Rafael's vision blurred again. He turned his head shamefacedly away.

In her apartment she took off her coat and hung it. He mimicked her blindly. She pointed him at the sofa, the way one might point a dog into its kennel after it had made a mess on the floor. 

Rafael sat. Olivia didn't. She paced back and forth across the living room, eyeing him, navigating stray stuffed animals as she stalked.

"What I need from you," she said at last, "is a better explanation. If you're breaking up with me, you owe me that."

Rafael choked hollowly. "I'm sorry? How can I break up with someone I've never been with?"

Her eyebrows leapt. "It's what you just did. Or tried to do. You think friendships don't break up? Let alone friendships with a boatload of—unspoken business?" 

He felt the snap of teeth at his belly. All he could do was flinch and retreat. "If you're aware of the unspoken boatload, why are you asking?"

"Because I don't get it. Tell me why you have to 'move on.'"

"I quit the job—"

"We're not talking about the job. I'm not the job." She strode closer and stood over him, fierce and towering. Resplendent, always. "Why are you quitting on me?"

His mouth spasmed. If she wanted him to fillet himself more, she'd get her wish. "Because it's never going to happen, between us. I know that, I knew it before, and I don't blame you for not wanting any part of this." His gesture toward himself was curt, dismissive. She'd been right all along not to accept him—had sensed with her formidable instinct just how unacceptable he'd ultimately become. "I thought I could live with it, I really did. But now—" His voice was cracking. "I can't _be_ here, Liv."

Olivia stopped in her tracks. Her expression changed to a kind of baffled incredulity. 

"You think I don't. You think I don't love you?" He didn't answer. She wiped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. "I thought you were smarter than that."

He mirrored disbelief back at her. "How could you?" he rasped. "After what I did."

"Oh, Rafa." 

All the hardness in her face and stance subsided. She came to sink beside him on the couch. 

"What you did," she said, "was put an end to the intolerable suffering of an infant and his family. You acted out of compassion. That trial was a circus, it was the DA covering his ass. The jury acquitted you."

"Because I hired a more entertaining clown." He hunched over his knees, staring downward without seeing. "Maybe they overshot with the murder charge. Acquittal isn't absolution."

"Sometimes there are no good choices. I wish things hadn't happened the way they did. But nothing you did has made me think any less of you. Rafael." She leaned to catch his eye despite his bent head. "You're still the best man I've ever known."

He barely felt his own head-shake until it grew frantic. _Best man I've ever_ flayed his ears and the pith of his chest. The disconnect between her estimation and his was too great. Irreconcilable. He fumbled for a rebuttal, some proof she couldn't refute.

"My mother hasn't spoken to me," was what he blurted. "Since the news broke. She's not returning my calls." Of course Olivia would've seen who was and wasn't at the trial, would've drawn her own conclusions from there. The words kept spewing out of him regardless, with all the bottled agony of a Catholic upbringing behind them. "I know, I know what she thinks. She thinks it's not our place to play God. That what I did, killing a child, it's unequivocally wrong, there's no circumstance in which it isn't a sin—"

"Hush," breathed Olivia. "Hush, now. Enough." 

She drew his head down to rest against her breastbone, under her chin. The tenderness of the gesture knocked Rafael's mind from its trajectory. He froze.

"I can't speak for your mom. But I don't think you should give up on her just yet." She stroked his head. She murmured into his hair. "What you need to understand is, someone loves you, and cares what happens to you, and wants you in their life." A shade of humor touched her voice. "If you were really me now, you'd know that."

Rafael pinched his eyes shut. It made no sense.

He didn't realize he'd muttered aloud until her mouth brushed the same spot on his forehead where he'd kissed hers. Payback, maybe. Contrapasso. 

"Since when does love have to make sense?" she asked.

"It always has for me, with you. How would it make sense if I didn't?"

She liked that better than his speech outside the courthouse. He could tell, even through the confusion of pain, because she slid her arms around him and held him. She'd hugged him before, but not like this: wholeheartedly encompassing, no holds barred. Her hands soothed up and down his back, along and over his suspenders. She rocked him, very gently, from side to side.

A sound escaped him. Another followed, and another, and then a soundless stretch in which his shoulders shook. 

Olivia kept holding him, stroking, as if with her warm wise hands she could preserve any last remnants of integrity, of body or soul.

*

When Lucy brought Noah home from after-school art class, he yelped and made a beeline for Rafael. "Uncle Rafa!"

Olivia saw Rafael muster a smile, if a subdued one. He put his phone on the coffee table and offered his fist to be bumped. "¿Qué te pasa, calabaza?"

Noah delivered the fist-bump like a superhero's punch. "Nada, nada, limonada!"

In the foyer, Lucy waved hello to Rafael, then confessed to Olivia in an undertone that there'd been a mishap in class. "He got paint on his shirt—I tried to get it off with soap and water—"

"No worries. Seriously, don't even think about it. Thanks for taking him. Noah, did you say bye to Lucy?"

"BYE!"

Before he could crank up the volume any further, Olivia shepherded him to his bedroom. "Let's get your shirt changed, okay?"

As he wriggled out of the t-shirt, Noah asked whether Uncle Rafa was staying for dinner.

"I hope so," said Olivia. "Maybe you can talk him into it." She examined the paint splotches, put the shirt aside to be salvaged later, and crouched to look Noah in the eye. She lowered her voice. "Listen, sweet boy, I need to tell you a secret. This is just between us, okay? Uncle Rafa had a really tough day, and he's feeling sad."

Noah's eyes widened. "Did something bad happen?"

"At his work, yeah. So he might not feel like playing games or watching cartoons right now. Maybe you can think of something to do with him to cheer him up. Something quiet?"

"Okay. Yeah!" 

As soon as the clean shirt was on, Noah lunged for his desk and gathered up a pile of supplies. Olivia followed him from the bedroom and turned for the kitchen.

Noah trotted to the living room. "I got some new coloring books. Uncle Rafa, wanna see?"

Rafael rolled up his shirt sleeves and beckoned. "A ver."

As Olivia opened the liquor cabinet, Noah unloaded his stack of coloring books and box of Crayolas on the coffee table. Rafael hunkered down to sit by his side on the floor.

"That's a great idea, Noah," said Olivia. She filled a rocks glass with ice and poured scotch over it. "Uncle Rafa really knows his colors. He was telling me about it earlier today."

From across the living room Rafael impaled her with a _did you really just_ sort of stare. Glad as she was to see some spark left in him, Olivia worried the blow might've struck too low. She didn't want to drive him out the door; it would defeat the purpose of waylaying him altogether. She carried the glass of scotch to the living room and set it on a coaster by his arm. She lingered for a minute, long enough to smooth her hand over his hair. 

Rafael swayed into her touch, if only slightly. He reached for the drink.

Noah was presenting the options. "Star Wars, dinosaurs, or ponies?" 

_"La Magia De La Amistad,"_ said Rafael. Noah opened his arsenal of crayons. Olivia hid a smile. She went to pour herself a glass of wine and put water on to boil.

Noah related the plot of _My Little Pony: The Movie_ with erratic attention to detail. "This is Tempest Shadow." He pointed at his work in progress. "She got her horn broke—"

"Broken."

"—and it messed up her magic and she did bad things. But really she just wanted to fix it."

"And did she? Fix it?"

"Nope, it's still broken."

"Depressing piece of realism," muttered Rafael.

"But she's friends with Twilight now, so it's okay," Noah assured him. "She's gonna be okay."

Rafael reached for a different shade of purple. "I sincerely hope you're right."

"I'm about to put the pasta in," said Olivia from the kitchen. "Should I make enough for three?"

Rafael's glance flew to her. His eyebrows canted up. Oh, _now_ you're giving me a choice? the eyebrows said. When Olivia only looked implacable, he turned to Noah. 

"¿Puedo comer contigo?"

"Sí!"

Nodding, Rafael hefted himself to his feet. "I'll help you set the table, if you remind me where things are." 

They sat down to dinner together. Olivia dished up the spaghetti in generous bowls, with three fat meatballs for each. If nothing else, Rafael still ate like a man who expected to live to see another day. It set a good example. Noah cleaned his plate while carrying the bulk of conversation: what he'd made in art class, what he'd done at school. 

"There's something I need to tell you, Noah," said Rafael, when the eating was mostly done. He'd finished his scotch and switched to Olivia's red with dinner. His fingers rested on the stem of the glass. "I have to go away for a while. Away from New York."

Noah quit fiddling with his spoon. "Is that why you're sad?" Rafael's eyes narrowed briefly. Olivia cleared her throat and studied her wine. "Is it because of your work?"

"In a way it is. For a while I won't be able to come and see you." 

"For how long?"

"I'm not sure right now. But I'll be back." His expression was earnest, if frayed at the edges. "I'm gonna miss you and your mami. You'll be good and help her out while I'm gone, right?"

"Yeah," sighed Noah, as if these duties went without saying. "Do you really have to go?"

"I do. Lo siento mucho, perdóname."

"It's okay. Will you send pictures?"

"Pictures? Pictures of what?"

"Cool stuff!"

Inclining his head, Rafael got up to start clearing the dishes. "I will document any and all cool stuff for you to verify," he said.

Noah seemed satisfied for the moment. Then he turned to Olivia, big-eyed with concern. "Do Uncle Sonny and Aunt Amanda have to go, too?"

She hurried to stroke his head. "No, sweet boy, they're not going anywhere. I know that for a fact, because I'm the boss of them. I'm not the boss of Uncle Rafa. Too bad, huh?"

"Boo," said Noah, with feeling. A fork clanged pointedly in the kitchen. Olivia sipped her wine and ruffled Noah's hair.

"Who wants ice cream?" she said.

After dessert came another round of coloring, then bathtime, then reading in bed. As she tucked Noah in, Olivia said, "I think Uncle Rafa's gonna sleep over tonight, so don't be surprised if he's here in the morning."

Noah hardly batted an eye, except to fret about logistics. "Where will he sleep?"

"On the couch. Just like you do sometimes when you take a nap. If you and I get up early, we have to be quiet as a mouse, okay? So we don't wake him up."

"Okay. Eddie will be quiet, too." Noah hugged the stuffed elephant at his side. "G'night."

Olivia closed the door to Noah's bedroom. She stood for a minute in the hallway, gathering herself, then went to fetch a blanket, a spare toothbrush, a pillow from her bed. 

Rafael had resisted when she'd suggested—insisted—he stay the night, but not for long. Obedience was habit-forming. There was no question in her mind of taking him to bed. Even if sex while on suicide watch hadn't seemed untenable, she didn't want their first time together to be desperate and sad. But the pillowcase was one she'd slept on. It would smell like her hair. She might've located a clean one somewhere, if she'd bothered to hunt. She hadn't. 

If that was fighting dirty, so be it. She'd use any trick in the book. 

He was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through flight itineraries on his phone. She sat down beside him, setting blanket and pillow on the sofa's arm.

"Kids," he murmured, without looking up. "They make you keep it together."

"Even when you think you can't." Olivia leaned into his side. "Where will you go?" 

"Miami, for now. I have enough savings to hold me for a while, if I live on the cheap."

"You have family there?"

"An aunt, some cousins. I wasn't planning to look them up. I'll be persona non grata to them, too. But I know the city. No bad memories there. It'll be warm."

Sunshine and sea air, Olivia thought. Vitamin D. Good for depression, as far as they went. She didn't hold out much hope that he'd actually seek therapy, but at least the weather would be on his side. He'd always hated the cold. The New York winter had been a brutal one. She disregarded the rising ache in her chest.

"I'm willing to release you on your own recognizance," she said, "on one condition."

His mouth didn't quite twitch, but it looked as if it wanted to. He set his phone aside. "Go on."

"Once a week, you send me something. Text, email, photo, whatever. Just—throw me a bone. It can be two words. 'Still here.' 'Not dead.'"

"Like mother, like son," he observed. "Two words. 'Miss you'? I could push it to three." He studied her. "Earlier today I didn't think I could do any of this."

"Any of what?"

"Talk to you for longer than two minutes. Look Noah in the face."

Act like a grownup, you mean? thought Olivia. But running from pain when you hurt too badly to think straight wasn't only for children. Grown men did it all the time. Women, too.

"What would you have done tonight," she asked, "if I'd let you walk?"

He slumped backward into the sofa cushion, staring without relish into midair. "Step one, get hammered? Step two...I don't know. Something stupid, I suppose. As stupid as trying to say goodbye to you."

"The kind of stupid you come back from? Or the kind you don't?" When he didn't answer, her heart tripped, and she knew she'd been right to trust her gut. To look past her hurt into his, to stop him bodily from going. To keep him on this existential plane. She clasped his forearm. "I understand you need time, to get away, I get that, but please, please—"

Her voice failed her. Rafael put his arms uncertainly around her, the way he had that day in her office when she'd thought Noah was lost. As if he didn't know what else to do. But he'd been there for her, the way she needed to be here for him now, not falling to pieces. His head butted gently against hers. 

"Hey," he whispered, "don't cry? I don't have my pocket square. Don't know where my towel is, either."

"Your towel?"

"Douglas Adams? _Hitchhiker's Guide_...?"

She'd never read it. That only made her tear up worse. "I want you in my _life,_ Rafa." 

"It's hard to think why."

"That's not for you to worry about." She wiped her eyes. "You don't get to decide what I want. If you can't get that through your skull, you're gonna lose your feminist street cred."

"Well, bollocks," said Rafael, in tones of despair, and she was laughing as she cried.

"I'll take the deal," he added, when they'd quieted, and she'd rubbed her tears on his shirt. "I commit to weekly dead checks. You will see me again in this lifetime. I give you my word." 

Olivia managed a watery smile. He still held her tentatively in his arms, ready to release her at any sign of discontent on her part. She petted his beloved tired face, his hair. "Was that so hard?"

"Everything's hard. Being is hard."

She winced in understanding. "Sleep might help. At least a little."

He gave one of his sideways nods of admission. "Easier said than done."

"You want to take something? I have some over-the-counter stuff. Or melatonin."

"I might just have a nightcap." At her look he added, "Just one."

Olivia spared him the PSA about how alcohol wasn't really a sleep aid. She was in no position to talk, and three drinks over the course of a night was nothing to him. Nothing to what it could've been. She kissed him on the temple and offered to pour him a glass.

*

In the morning she woke early. The sky was almost entirely dark. She lay in bed, listening for sounds of motion outside the bedroom, but heard none. Sitting up, she finger-combed her hair and bound it in a messy ponytail. She crawled out of bed, put on slippers, and crept out of the room.

She padded down the hallway, past the door to Noah's bedroom. She was half afraid to approach the sofa, but Rafael's shirt and trousers and suspenders were still draped over the neighboring chair. Edging closer, she peeked over the sofa's back. 

He was curled on his side in the fetal position. His chest moved only faintly as he breathed. The short sleeves of his undershirt stretched around his upper arms, defining his biceps. His bare feet protruded from the blanket. He clung to Olivia's pillow with both hands, like a child clinging to a stuffed toy to ward off nightmares. His face was softened, cheek stubbled, mouth slack.

Olivia crept into the kitchen, quietly as she could, to turn on the coffee maker. Then she went back to her bedroom, closed the door, and sat down on the edge of the bed to silently cry. It was only in part with relief.

After the cry she felt a little better. She showered, did her makeup, put on work pants and blouse. When she came out again, she found Rafael in the kitchen, in trousers and undershirt, peering blearily at the unfamiliar Keurig. Patting his hip, she nudged him aside. 

"Hey. You got some sleep?" 

"I did."

"Good." She allowed herself the luxury of rubbing his back, just for a minute. Her chances to do it were running out. "You sit. I'll get you a cup."

He retreated to the breakfast bar and sat watching her quietly. He looked worn and diminished, but not only sad. Bemused, too, by his presence in her kitchen, by the surreality and unlikely normalcy of being given to witness her morning routine. She set coffee in front of him, and a piece of buttered toast with cinnamon and sugar. Something for his sweet tooth. He drank and ate. When Noah wandered out, sleepy eyed, Rafael got up and offered, glancing at her for permission, to help him get changed.

After breakfast she let Noah say his goodbyes to Uncle Rafa, with extra hugging, then took him to school. By the time she came back, Rafael was clean and fully dressed, if more than usually rumpled. He'd folded the blanket on the sofa, neatly, and laid the borrowed pillow on top. Olivia felt her eyes beginning to burn.

She followed him into the foyer. He put on his scarf and coat without looking away. Memorizing her, the way he'd done just before he walked off in front of the courthouse. She tried to swallow and couldn't.

"This is the tough part," she got out. It was a limited truth. All day and all night had been the tough part. There was more of it yet to come. 

Rafael's expression darkened. "I wanted to rip off the bandage, but you, you had to peel it slowwwly—"

"There was nothing superior about your method, trust me," Olivia said. "You can thank me later, when you appreciate it more." She stepped close to him, laying her palms on the breast of his coat. "Now, I'm gonna tell you again, in the cold light of day, so you don't get confused about it. Or start thinking you dreamed it up." She squeezed a fistful of wool coat in each hand and shook him, only slightly. Not enough to rock him on his heels. "I need you to take care of yourself. I love you. I want you back."

The rims of his eyes reddened. He nodded. It was a small nod, but not tremulous. Or duplicitous. Olivia exhaled a long, unsteady breath.

"Okay, good." 

She slid both hands down his front, around his waist, to draw him closer still. She lifted one hand to cup the side of his face, feeling the night's stubble on cheek and jaw. Rafael's mouth moved, but no sound came out. His eyes shone, still red at the edges. He looked as if he might unravel if she did what she meant to do, but had no intention of stopping her. Her thumb brushed the corner of his lips. 

"Something to take with you," she whispered, and leaned in.

*

She'd offered to drive him to LaGuardia, but Rafael knew the threadbare fiber of his being wouldn't tolerate another parting. Not even a nos vemos. Not without coming apart. 

He took a shuttle. His carry-on held a pair of shorts, a polo, flip-flops to change into after he landed. The air on the ground would be warm and humid, clement, like the air in her bathroom after she'd showered in it. There'd be no hint of her scent anywhere.

At cruising altitude he looked out the window, across the landscape of pastel cloud. It extended, undulating mildly, for miles into darkening blue. He still hurt, all over. His heart. His back and neck and shoulders from the night on her couch. But he lifted his fingers absently to his lips, remembering. The voice in him kept repeating her name, over and over, at a pitch of bewildered hope. 

He took it as instruction, as a mantra: _live, live._

**Author's Note:**

> This may cover ground similar to that of other fics, but I had to try my hand at the ol' Undiscovered fix-it. Big thanks to Marís for help with the Spanish!
> 
> Comments are treasured. 
> 
> You can also find me at unicornmagic.tumblr.com


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